Casting off moorings.

I had spent a little less than a month working on portraits, drawn or painted from photos, and then, unannounced, this face emerged.

He stares out of the page, an unsettling presence.

There are stories to imagine, none to tell.

Well as far as I am concerned he was a piece of recreation.

I simply played with colours and forms until it said stop.

I stopped to contemplate what he or it might mean for future acts.

I find working purposefully, in a concentrated manner on study , on technique, tiring but valuable.  I realise that this will be a constant source of frustration but also a challenge and a potential source of satisfaction.

I am not really sure how the idea of completing 30 portraits came about, it just did.

It is this path which arouses my curiosity, which begs me to retrace my steps.  

Taking bearings.

Why, I ask myself, does one image attract at a particular moment? 

There are people who have an eye that I treasure.

There are people who have a way with words that inspire.

There are those photos that come back to me that I go to search for years after.

What determines this toing and froing from, repetitive technical exercise to recreation?

Instinctively, intrinscially motivated moments of studied effort, concentration, intermingle with instintively motivated moments of freely formed, instinctive creativity.

The monster can't appear without the work on portraiture, the monster can't appear without the freedom to create.

Mapping not tracing.

Mapping most often involves taking knowledge of the lines of others inorder to trace one's own steps....

I suppose what I find so wrong about much of classical education is that teachers don't wait for students to naturally and instinctively search for answers, for mastery, to their own personal questions, to map out their own personal paths.

Most of the time creativity is not called for, only unthinking tracing.

I find myself taking screen shots of the artwork of others, as reference, as inspiration.

I find myself watching documentaries retracing the artistic paths of others. 

Moments of serenity, moments of despair....

I think again how objects, images, memories become markers on our maps, moorings for our lives.

I think again how motifs model meaning.

I think about the challenges to accepted motifs and the creation of new forms of art.

I think of how loss of attachment, mooring, meaning, leads us to fearful despair, confusion or outrage.

Tides, waves, lunar movements...

I leave people and portraits and find refuge in landscape.

As I draw, I branch off, my eye drawn around the room.

I glance over at my bookcase and see the  mountaineering section, the aikido section, the Stanislavski and Chekov books on acting, the various tomes concerning educational  research from the past ten years.  Each section represents moments, hours, years of attention, enthusiasm, passion, and its waning.

There are seasons, tides, reverberations, which somehow connect in my thoughts, memories, writing, drawing, painting....

Living for many years on the coast, moving backwards and forwards between two countries separated by the sea, looking at photos from series of annual trips across the channel, the sea is a constant motif in my existence.

“There were profound reasons for his attachment to the sea: he loved it because as a hardworking artist he needed rest, needed to escape from the demanding complexity of phenomena and lie hidden on the bosom of the simple and tremendous; because of a forbidden longing deep within him that ran quite contrary to his life's task and was for that very reason seductive, a longing for the unarticulated and immeasurable, for eternity, for nothingness. To rest in the arms of perfection is the desire of any man intent upon creating excellence; and is not nothingness a form of perfection?” 
― Thomas Mann, Death in Venice and Other Tales

Casting off moorings.

Strangely, time appears for this work, when time before appeared absent.

How is it that after so many years, I find this time to paint? 

Maybe, I have cast off those moorings that were holding me back.

I find a poem on the Mooring image from Wendy Taleo. It finds its place somehow here.

I don't really know why it is that I am pausing here to write a few notes in this "ship's log". 

I had become fed up with words.

They appear here to punctuate the flow.

Screen captures freedom.

"The time to hesitate is through

No time to wallow in the mire

Try now we can only lose

And our love becomes a funeral pyre."

The Doors.

SCREEN CÄPTURES FREEDOM.

This reminds me of Shor and Freire in Pedagogy of Liberation where they say the oppressed need to learn both the knowledge of the dominant and their own, both critically. Edward Said (first? postcolonial scholar) also feels strongly against nationalistic curricula for example

— ℳąhą Bąℓi, PhD مها بالي 🌷 (@Bali_Maha) August 12, 2018

Reflecting on < What "decolonised education" should and shouldn't mean < and could mean. @14prinsp @Bali_Maha @mosallah @sharmashyam @santoshbidari https://t.co/twEKl03cyt via @TC_Africa

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) August 12, 2018

Absolutely! You can dance very fast on the head of a pin & maybe hold the line but leadership has 2 B willing 2 make structural changes that R proactive & take back the line.

— Diem Lafortune Cree Treaty 6 (@DMLafortune) August 12, 2018

I always think of Audre Lorde's quote about how you can never use the master's tools to dismantle the master's house.

But it would also be stupid not to use those tools if useful

BUT we do ourselves a disservice if we let those tools/knowledge blind us to our own capacity...

— ℳąhą Bąℓi, PhD مها بالي 🌷 (@Bali_Maha) August 12, 2018

HUNGER.

HUNGER FOR KNOWLEDGE.

DEFINE KNOWLEDGE.

The issue w current hegemonic knowledge is that it renders the knowledge and epistemologies of others invalid or less credible.

So a decolonizing approach is needed to challenge that and break free from view of postcolonial person as less intelligent, less able to think/create

— ℳąhą Bąℓi, PhD مها بالي 🌷 (@Bali_Maha) August 12, 2018

What constitutes hegemony in « hegemonic » knowledge? What constitutes validation? Who validates? Who gives credence?

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) August 12, 2018

That isn't a rhetorical question, we know who has been defining knowledge and erasing or demeaning other knowledges

— ℳąhą Bąℓi, PhD مها بالي 🌷 (@Bali_Maha) August 13, 2018

HUNGER.

HUNGER FOR KNOWLEDGE.

KNOWLEDGE OF HUNGER.

HUNGER IS NO RHETORIC!

HUNGER DEFINES ACTION.

SCREEN CAPTURES FREEDOM

I am working on finding my path through a page to freedom.

SCREEN CAPTURES FREEDOM

HELPLESS?
HOPELESS?

RESISTANCE IS FUTILE?

CAPTURE DEFINES ACTION.
HUNGER DEFINES ACTION.

"Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends."
Martin Luther King

Reflecting on < What "decolonised education" should and shouldn't mean < and could mean.

EDUCATION? WHAT EDUCATION?

EDUCATION MAY DEFINE INACTION.
EDUCATION MAY DEFY INACTION.

LINES OF FLIGHT....

LINES OF FLIGHT STUCK TO FLY PAPER?

CAPTURED IN LIGHT?

FLIGHT? LIGHT CONSUMED? FUTILE CONSUMERS ALL!

EDUCATION WHAT EDUCATION?

SCREEN CAPTURES FREEDOM TO QUESTION.

SCREEN CAPTURE DEFINES ACTION

KNOWLEDGE OF HUNGER DEFINES ACTION.
KNOWLEDGE OF INACTION DEFINES HUNGER.

SCREEN RAPTURE DEFINES ACTION

pic.twitter.com/mjtUznKeKF

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) August 17, 2018

We can do something rather than nothing. https://t.co/bZluUdMOcz I am seeing what I can do with @santoshbidari First was to connect https://t.co/Y7VRhHXHez to work in Nepal. Next skill share and financial help.

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) August 17, 2018

LINES OF FLIGHT STUCK TO FLY PAPER

What will they be when we are all stuck?

They will be stuck.

They will be struck down long before.

SCREEN CAPTURE 

20 Then the Lord said to Moses, “Get up early in the morning and confront Pharaoh as he goes to the river and say to him, ‘This is what the Lord says: Let my people go, so that they may worship me. 21 If you do not let my people go, I will send swarms of flies on you and your officials, on your people and into your houses. The houses of the Egyptians will be full of flies; even the ground will be covered with them.

HAVE FAITH! FAITH PLAGUES THEM.

And the Lord said to Moses, “Stretch out your hand over Egypt so that locusts swarm over the land and devour everything growing in the fields, everything left by the hail.”

BUZZ.

AGAINST ODDS

BUZZ.
BUZZ.

SO COUNT, COUNT.

HAVE FAITH! FAITH PLAGUES THEM!

Against their odds.

FAITH CONSUMED?

They would have us consumed.

They would have us consumed in their neon, their néant...

HAVE FAITH! FAITH PLAGUES THEM!

They would have us dumb.
They would have us meek.

SEEK AND YE SHALL FIND.

EDUCATION? WHAT EDUCATION?

ASH, DUST, DUSTED

Then the Lord said to Moses, “Tell Aaron, ‘Stretch out your staff and strike the dust of the ground,’ and throughout the land of Egypt the dust will become gnats.” 17 They did this, and when Aaron stretched out his hand with the staff and struck the dust of the ground, gnats came on people and animals. All the dust throughout the land of Egypt became gnats. 18 But when the magicians tried to produce gnats by their secret arts, they could not.

Since the gnats were on people and animals everywhere, 19 the magicians said to Pharaoh, “This is the finger of God.” But Pharaoh’s heart was hard and he would not listen, just as the Lord had said.

So go on,
COUNT
COUNT.

SIRE, MY LORD, YER HONOUR.

ASH, DUST, DUSTED
.

LET THEM LIE.
LET THEM ROT.
BE NOT AFRAID.

RESISTANCE IS FUTILE?
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

CONSUMED IN OUR PYRE.
RIVER FLOWS, FLOWS IRK, FLOWS MIRK, FLOWS NOT.
DESERTS US, JUST DESERTS, OUR DESERTS, THEIR DESERTS, JUST DESERTS.

UNLOCKE FREEDOM.

Community chest.

It was thanks to Paul Prinsloo that I became familiar with the annotated image of the Monopoly board.

He used it in his brilliant presentation entitled:

Faculty as quantified, measured and tired: The lure of the red shoes.
[slides]

Faculty as quantified, measured and tired: The lure of the red shoes.
[script]

Quantified, measured and tired.

It is taking more energy than I feel that I have to type this here.

A pop up notification appears on my phone:

"Congratulations: you have won an open badge for succesfully completing a course."

I feel no joy or achievement.

I feel only tired and demoralised.

I shan't ever wear those red shoes...

God be blessed (blasphemy). I suppose that is a mercy.

As a kid, I wasn't even seduced by brown shoes.

"We were never allowed brown shoes, only the privileged had them. We wore black army boots and gaiters on Thursday afternoons."

http://tachesdesens.blogspot.com/2014/02/body-and-sole-rhizo14-meets-metaphor.html

I count myself lucky to have shoes at all; others aren't so privileged.

Open badges and closed borders.

Yesterday, I conducted an English exam for a student who needed some sort of grade, any sort of institutional credit, to avoid expulsion from the country.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

A survival badge.

He started his university career with minus ten years of study of English compared with the French students.

He started his university career with minus ten years of practice of computer skills.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

A survival badge.

Community chest.

As I arrived at the university, I looked at the ongoing building work. It was for a spanking new research laboratory.  The occupation of the ex-library, once a potential space for an open learning centre, is a concrete demonstration of the power structure within the institution.

We had imagined a new pedagogical space.

Hours and hours of time invested...in praxis.

Does praxis make perfect?

Poor naive souls...

Pedagogy comes way down the list in terms of institutional priorities.

"Pedagogical project" vs "Research lab"?

There was no contest.

Shattered dreams of open community learning....

I shall get that off my chest.

Budget cuts...any budget cuts.

Rationalisation, financial control, personnel insecurity...personal strife.

I wrote about my time at Marylhurst: “As the financial woes of the institution mounted, the mistreatment of faculty, and especially adjunct faculty, increased ... Tears were not unusual at committee meetings.” https://t.co/wjp4SyggKO

— Jesse Stommel (@Jessifer) May 19, 2018

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

Bored room meetings.

I met a couple of bored students waiting around for an exam.

What were they waiting for?

The opportunity to gain a bit of credit to move onto the next square in this ludicrous game.

They know that they are not invited to the main board table.

The real games go on in "Grandes Ecoles", then in board rooms, or amongst the bankers.

The real winners don't need "badges" like us, they employ people to sort out pesky legal problems.

The real winners don't need to write blogs, they don't give a fuck about that, they own the platforms.

The real winners don't play games, they don't take prisoners, they have no qualms, they are killers.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

Not the banker?

I am a loser, I am not even winning at that.

I am a middling, meddling, signed up member of the mediocrity messing around in a sham meritocracy, piddling around in a sham democracy.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

The real losers, don't play games, they don't take prisoners, they have no qualms, they are killers.

Those real losers buy semi-automatic weapons from the real winners.

Oh, you can't blame the winners for over-estimating their importance.

Why be critical when you are winning the game?

You wouldn't want to question your good fortune for too long.

You're a great guy!

You're a tough guy!

You're a really mean guy!

Oh Bravo!

I listened to Piers Morgan speak on TV.

The devil's apprentice.

Devil's apprentice winner, Piers likes the sound of his winning (whining) voice.

Great guy!

Listening to Piers Morgan speak on TV about winning the ratings battle, crushing the competitors to his girly eye-brow raising, colluding, co-presenters and I feel an urgent need to vomit, to take several showers.

Oh isn't he a naughty boy!

Piers sounds like a fucking loser to me.

The real winners don't need to present morning TV, they don't give a fuck about that, they own the platforms.

Good morning Britain.

Good morning Vietnam.

Il est cinq heures, Paris se reveille...

On n' est pas couché...

Are you sure?

I am sure il a couché...ou elle.

Red shoes, brown shoes? Brown shirts...

Another mediocre privileged protofascist populist on French TV, channeling Trump, channeling Farage, channeling Orban spitting out vile.

Debout la France!

I feel an urgent need to vomit, to take several showers.

The real winners don't care about divisions created as a result of the air-time given to these bastards on their fucking platforms.

Civil wars win ratings battles.

Give them blood.

They'll have the bullets.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

Get out of jail! Free?

I wanted to be inspired by Sean Michael Morris's blog post that I read yesterday.

Reflecting on < Imagination as a Precision Tool for Change https://t.co/hhpPkD9WfK @slamteacher

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 25, 2018

I read it.

I think of agency.

I feel tired, demoralised and measured in these words...

Oh agency...would that be like the drive for survival which brings people to get into boats to cross the Mediterrenean?

We need virtual exchanges to build up understanding between young people in Europe and those in the South Mediterrenean countries (Africa).

They say in the pamphlet.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

Oh fuck, I am oh so so happy.

I am so fucking content with my badge.

Imagination as a precision tool for change.

I feel tired, demoralised and measured in these words...

How the fuck can I, white, bi-national shoe-wearing member of the mediocrity, imagine the lives of those risking their lives to cross the sea with their kids to come to France?

What did my imagination ever do to really change fuck?

Imagination, precision tool for change...my arse.

[I measure my words, I regret the tone, I regret the potential upset caused, I so want to be cheered, to cheer the work of those who I respect, I want to encourage, to feel encouraged, and the only words I can find to write are 'my arse'. I so wish I could steal the words of others, Freire, hooks, whoever, to feel better.]

I am sorry.

Open badges and closed borders.

I reread a paragraph about plagiarism.

What the hell is Turnitin?

I claim ignorance.

I read it and it sounds like some drug sold by Pfizer.

Can ignorance enable agency?

I feel myself writing words that I will only regret.

I am sorry.

The paragraph reminds me of the "exam" earlier in the week.

I had to explain the concept of "plagiarism" to the "candidate."

He had no English words of his own.

He was desperate to avoid expulsion.

He stole the words of others.

I begin to feel more like a border control officer than a teacher.

I find a space in the marking grid for him to express his plight in one of the five languages he masters.

Four of the languages, he points out, are not much use outside of his country.

English, he says is essential to him...to work in...management.

I hear the protofascist on TV whining on about France being colonised by African migrants.

I feel an urgent need to vomit, to take several showers.

I go back and reread Sean Michael Morris's:

"Is critical pedagogy aligned with the interests of the academy? In an ivory tower increasingly interested in credentialing as currency, competitive completion rates, models of efficiency that have given rise to online program management companies, the outsourcing of pedagogy to Pearson and Turnitin, are we confronting a reality where “Dreams are caught in the meshes of the saleable; possession of consumer goods is the alternative to gloom or feelings of pointlessness. Ideas of possibilities are trapped in predictability”? (“Art and Imagination” 124)"

However you turn it, in this occupied territory, the answer to Sean's question is:

YES

I go back and read Sean's last paragraph.

"Before I sat down to write this talk, I would not have thought that my best pedagogical advice might be to go seeking after monsters. But I think it’s good advice, and advice I want to take. To front the reckless world. To be reminded that some things cannot be reasoned."

Some things cannot be reasoned, yes.

I don't need to go seeking bloody monsters.

Does one really need imagination to see monsters?

NO

One does need imagination to survive these monstrous times.

GO directly to jail.

Peer Review.

"No you really should look to do a PHD." they say.

So, after much humming and hawing...

I write it and it.... ho hum....

Well it sounds odd.

So much the better!

"Oh sod it!."



"Odd sod!"

"OH! Haw haw haw!"

So, I print out page after page of forms.

I struggle to write myself into their forms.

Is that really me?

"Oh who fucking cares?"

I am missing the point.

I hadn't read the small print.

I am to be rendered procedurally immaterial.

"We don't accept paper, all applications must be in digital form."

I am an object in an inbox to be processed...................................................................(fucking slowly.)

Enough time to be able to think and to annotate my thoughts and find companions.

I wait.

I wait.

I wait.

“Why doing a PhD is often a waste of time” by The Economist https://t.co/lyhdWS5mYl

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 2, 2018

I hope.........................................................................................................................................................

"Oh think of the wastage!"

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

I, or the executors of my will are to be left with page after page of forms and no ink in the printer cartridge.

"With regards to your application, we have the pleasure to inform you, you have been accepted on our doctoral program. It will cost you/your estate an arm and a leg."

Not hearing anything for the next eight months, I decide I better take things into my own hands.

I write an email.

"Er, what's going on with my application?"

"Er, yes, we have processed your application, the commission has accepted to validate your experience. You can start applying to get on the doctoral program."

So, good.

I wait.

All that counts... https://t.co/tAp76ZhjgC

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 2, 2018

I wait.

@WarwickLanguage HURRY! SPECIAL OFFER!!! pic.twitter.com/ggXaNx4Gvx

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 2, 2018

I wait.

I phone the appropriate number.

I listen to three of Vivaldi's four seasons...

Winter is coming.

"Er, hello, what's going on with my application?"

"Oh, yes, er sorry, there are a few issues with your application."

...................................................................................................................................................................
(more time passes)

More Vivaldi.

Winter is here.

"Er yes, you have been incorrectly advised, you shouldn't have done a VAP, you should have done a VAE"

"***********"
(exasperation, passive aggressive non-voiced swearing and insults)

"So we will send you the forms in triplicate, and you will have to do an interview in front of a jury, who, if we are fortunate, will find you guilty to be charged: a few pounds of flesh, an arm, a leg, your other arm, and other leg, a fair amount of your adomen, oh and your buttocks (you sad fucker).

Should you die on completion of the program your executors will receive the doctoral diploma with post-mortem as its annex"

...................................................................................................................................................................(more time passes)

Peer Review

So, I had just come back from an academic conference where I felt, for the first time, perhaps, accepted by my peers...on my terms.

I feel that I have a role...which I feel comfortable with...in the margins....no, for ever in their margins.

I spoke with my friend Teresa and we laughed about the absurdity of this system.

I spoke with my friend Terry and we laughed about the absurdity of this system.

I go and look back at what I have written.

Ghost in the machine https://t.co/QoEmxfPQmZ

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 2, 2018

Hope Remains https://t.co/CqZROufOMo

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 2, 2018

In a different light. https://t.co/SK6Izm8yk6

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 2, 2018

This is real to me. #clmooc https://t.co/ef3GxBGqjb

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 2, 2018

I shall trust myself to find my way.

I decide that I shall feel my way through the woulds, to find the will that is mine.

I shall not tread the wood that is beaten out for me.

I can not.

That is not, has never been my path.

"Oh we have never had a case like yours."

I don't fit in their fucking forms.



Of course I don't.

I never fucking did.

Neither do you.

That's my point.

That's my role.

That's it.

PEER REVIEW

I peer around in the darkness, take a few deep breaths, a few steps and review.

I am still alive.

And fucking kicking.

Recognition

Just be assured that I am at peace.

"I don't ask for your pity, but just for your understanding - not even that - no.  Just for some recognition of me in you, and the enemy time, in us all."

Tennessee Williams Sweet Bird of Youth

Recognition.

Recognition for me, is a quest for harmony.

I have tried on so many costumes, played so many roles, that I find myself not so much naked but worn. 

If I be worn, I am not for the instant worn out.

If the truth be known, now my friend I am inhabited.

I remember the seduction of theatrical applause.

I don't know about you, but the applause only ever had meaning for me when it came as confirmation; confirmation of a journey, of an emotion, of a struggle shared.

There has to be...there has to be presence.

Recognition is perhaps in communion.

Diffusion of responsibility...

What a gorgeous spring day it was for the assembled anonymous flag wavers, people watchers, souvenir hawkers...Her, Him, HRM, George Clooney and I.

We do do it so well, don't we?

Pageantry.







Let us pray, stand, or kneel by ceremony.

Pageantry.

Heavens they even invited a black gospel choir!

STAND BY...
ME!

OH! Moving it was.

OH HURRAH!

God save the Queen!

Lime green, behatted, b.well conserved, granny.

What's not to LOVE?

We do do it so well, don't we?

Pageantry.

People slept in the streets...

They were moved on.

People slept in the streets.

They stood to cheer.

Hurrah!

Pageantry.

Let us pray, stand, or kneel, or lie perhaps, by ceremony.

They have updated the brand a bit.

Heavens, they even elected a black president!

Heavens, they even invited a black preacher!

He dared to "touch on civil rights" even!

He dared to speak to POWER!

Of "Power" "Real Power".

“I'm talking about some power, real power, power to change the world ... If you don't believe me there were some old slaves in America's South who explained the power of love."

Curry continued, 

“They sang a spiritual even in the midst of their captivity. It's the one that says there's a balm in Gilead, a healing balm."

FREEDOM.

He quoted from Saintly Martyred Doctor  King, now relic, now bust, no body, now stood alone, cast bronze in oval office.

Oval offices past and present.

Take a tour.

Is that a portrait of Andrew Jackson smirking?

Let us trot out a dream.

AMERICAN DREAM.

He gave us LOVE.

He gave us hope?

Real hope?
False hope?

We have LOVE that will change the world.

OH TRUE LOVE!

Rev Michael Curry could almost make me a believer

— Ed Miliband (@Ed_Miliband) May 19, 2018

OH DOE-EYED PRIVILEGE!

Yes, the Rev Michael Curry could almost make me a believer.

ALL WE NEED IS LOVE!!

Her, veteran of suits series, in Givenchy.

Him, veteran of uniform series,  in Afghanistan.

What the hell was he doing in Afghanistan?

What the hell was she doing in America?

HIS STORY.

HER STORY.

THEIR STORY.

OUR STORY.

"There is no PLAN ET B"
Emanuel Macron.

SAVE THE PLANET.


Changed to black tie, white dress.

 Changed from gas-guzzling Rolls to grey-horse-drawn carriage to "a zero-emissions, battery-electric-powered version of the 1968 model with LED headlights". Jaguar


Doesn't it make you feel all fuzzy, dozy and content?

ROSE-TINTED SPECTACLE...(S)

OH TRUE LOVE!

“What a stupendous, what an incomprehensible machine is man! Who can endure toil, famine, stripes, imprisonment and death itself in vindication of his own liberty, and the next moment . . . inflict on his fellow men a bondage, one hour of which is fraught with more misery than ages of that which he rose in rebellion to oppose.” 

― Thomas Jefferson, Letters of Thomas Jefferson

"After over 200 years of rumors and controversy, Thomas Jefferson’s historic home at Monticello is giving Sally Hemings, the slave with whom Jefferson likely fathered at least six children with, a room of her own, reports Michael Cottman at NBC News."

"...small, windowless room is 14 feet, 8 inches wide and 13 feet long"

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/sally-hemings-gets-her-own-room-monticello-180963944/

Diffusion of responsibility.

They've cut the number of classes per term.

Oh you know "budget cuts."

Nothing to do.

Oh, you know "we (the university) do(es)n't have any money."

"So what that means is you will have 20% less time to cram in all those hours."

She was already stretched to the limit, people on yearly contracts do 30% more teaching hours.

On a spreadsheet, nobody can hear her scream.

The accountant is relieved.

The director is relieved.

She is screaming.

I am blogging.

Blogging on, banging on...doing nothing.

I am reminded of a blog post of Jesse Stommel.

I wrote about my time at Marylhurst: “As the financial woes of the institution mounted, the mistreatment of faculty, and especially adjunct faculty, increased ... Tears were not unusual at committee meetings.” https://t.co/wjp4SyggKO

— Jesse Stommel (@Jessifer) May 19, 2018

In  a blog post, nobody can hear her weep.

Writing, singing, movies, social media diffuse emotional proximity.

We can feel moved.

We can relate...vicariously.

We can nod (off).

Diffusion of responsibility.

Don't speak out.

Don't act up.

I mean we are all so busy.

I mean we are all so scared.

I mean we are all so fortunate...

Well some of us.

Aren't they beautiful?

What a gorgeous spring day it was for the assembled flag wavers, people watchers, souvenir hawkers, Her, Him, HRM, George Clooney and I.

Count your blessings.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, or should it be 5, 4, 3, 2, 1?

I mean it's all about cost.

To them, certainly.

To us?

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Shh... count your blessings.

Diffusion of responsibility.

Shall we sing songs of slaves?


"Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there? why then has not the health of the daughter of my people recovered?" 

Jeremiah 8:22

Shall we swallow talk of "love" whole (and do nothing)?

"I'm talking about some power, real power, power to change the world ... If you don't believe me there were some old slaves in America's South who explained the power of love."

Dr Stephen Curry gave us songs of captive slaves?

Why wasn't he speaking of slave rebellions which freed them?

“I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical. Unsuccesful rebellions indeed generally establish the incroachments on the rights of the people which have produced them. An observation of this truth should render honest republican governors so mild in their punishment of rebellions, as not to discourage them too much. It is a medecine necessary for the sound health of government.” 
― Thomas Jefferson, Letters of Thomas Jefferson

Didn't King speak of that struggle, that suffering?

"I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive."

http://www.let.rug.nl/usa/documents/1951-/martin-luther-kings-i-have-a-dream-speech-august-28-1963.php

Diffusion of responsibility.

Corridors of power are long.

Whose doors do we knock on to speak to the management?

"Take me to your leader!"

"According to Hesiod, the Hydra was the offspring of Typhon and Echidna.^[3] It possessed many heads, the exact number of which varies according to the source. Later versions of the Hydra story add a regeneration feature to the monster: for every head chopped off, the Hydra would regrow a couple of heads.^[4]

The Hydra had poisonous breath and blood so virulent that even its scent was deadly.^[5]

Whose streets do we barricade when the highways are virtual?

Whose (virtual) walls are we banging our heads against?

Blogging on, banging on...doing nothing.

Safe.

Safe?

Banging on, blogging on... Banging on door. Blogging on. Did you hear the screams? No?
Him not I...
Him being flogged.

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) May 22, 2018

Diffusion of responsibility.

What to do when responsibility is diffuse?

What to do when responsibility is distributed?

Where is Google or Facebook based?

In Ireland?

In Luxembourg?

In Gilead?

Where is the capital?

Washington?
Bei Jing?
Wall Street?
Davos?
Panama?

Jerusalem?

And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy lamb of god
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the countenance divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?

Diffusion of responsibility.

What of King's "dreams"... on Youtube?

Oh yes, part of the curriculum now.

He's safe now he's bust in bronze and gone into scripture for royalty.

What of crowds of anonymous marchers at the capitol?

What is the "power of love" without the power of rebellion?

Count your blessings.
Count those sheep.
Count those years you spend asleep.

May your dreams be sweet.
Some have dreams of release.

Here I am banging on, blogging on, doing nothing.

Count your blessings.
Count those sheep.
Count those years you spend asleep.

May your dreams be sweet.
Some have dreams of freedom.

There is no freedom without struggle.

Hope, it's theirs...

He waves a banner.

Hope, it's the right one.

Touches of sense...

5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

He snores.

Footnotes

Diffusion of responsibility^[1] is a sociopsychological phenomenon whereby a person is less likely to take responsibility for action or inaction when others are present. Considered a form of attribution, the individual assumes that others either are responsible for taking action or have already done so.^[2] Assumption of responsibility tends to decrease when the potential helping group is larger, resulting in little aiding behavior demonstrated by the bystander(s).^[3] Causes range from psychological effects of anonymity to differences in gender. Implication of behaviors related to diffusion of responsibility can be threatening as there have been increases in moral disengagement and helping behavior. The infamous rape case of Kitty Genovese and increased murders in WWII can be attributed to diffusion of responsibility

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diffusion_of_responsibility


Diffusion of responsibility

In addition, diffusion of responsibility is more likely to occur under conditions of anonymity. In prosocial situations, individuals are less likely to intervene when they do not know the victim personally. Instead, they believe that someone who has a relationship with the victim will assist. In antisocial situations, negative behaviors are more likely to be carried out when the person is in a group of similarly motivated individuals. The behavior is driven by the deindividuating effects of group membership and the diffusion of feelings of personal responsibility for the consequences.^[6] As part of this process, individuals become less self-aware and feel an increased sense of anonymity. As a result, they are less likely to feel responsible for any antisocial behavior performed by their group. Diffusion of responsibility is also a causal factor governing much crowd behavior, as well as risk-taking in groups

Post Script

"When we cheer the royals, democracy suffers."